


sometimes it just takes time

by Fadeddancer



Category: Henry Stickmin Series (Video Games)
Genre: Fluff, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Mentions of Death, Nightmares, Selectively Mute Henry Stickmin, demi charles is exactly what i needed lol, demiromantic/demisexual Charles, i love the gay stickmen with my entire being, i love this ship so much that i had to make another fic of it, me? projecting onto these characters? no wayyyyy haha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26491063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fadeddancer/pseuds/Fadeddancer
Summary: Charles, over the course of a few years, notices emotions that only really show up when Henry is around. Problem is, he has no idea what they are or how to handle them.
Relationships: Charles Calvin/Henry Stickmin
Comments: 11
Kudos: 240





	sometimes it just takes time

One thing that Charles had never understood was love.

He’d met plenty of amazing, loving people, boys and girls and nonbinary folk alike, but he’d never experienced love the way they did. He could never explain it without sounding like he was making something up.

“Oh, you’ll find someone eventually,” they’d all said. “You just need to find the right person.” “You’ll meet your soulmate and you’ll change your mind.”

No hookup, no rushed one-month relationship, nothing anyone considered normal felt right to him. Romance just wasn’t for Charles.

Until Henry.

It had been a few years since the Toppats were finally taken out, since their space station had been destroyed before it even left Earth. Henry and Charles continued to perform missions together, even as the Wall kept trying to pin Henry to a crime (since they decided to completely ignore his pardon, which, c’mon. Rude.). At first, Charles was just excited to have a more permanent partner for missions. He and Henry worked well together, and Charles found that he was one of the only people to pick up on Henry’s miniscule tics and habits. Little tilts of his head, a small quirk of his mouth; he was conveying much emotion with such small changes, and nobody ever noticed.

Eventually, Charles found himself learning sign (well, more than he already knew, anyway) in order to communicate more effectively with Henry. They were comfortable with each other in the small space of the helicopter’s cockpit, and even each other’s living spaces in later months. Charles found himself lending the couch to Henry on nights when nightmares plagued his sleep. Something about timelines, other futures he could see, where things turned out much differently. He didn’t quite understand, but as long as he could be there for his partner, it didn’t matter to the pilot.

Slowly, and without his knowledge or consent, Charles Calvin fell in love with one Henry Stickmin.

On a bitter winter night, during the pair’s leave, Charles woke with a jolt. His house was well-insulated, but the cold outside crept into his bones and chilled him through. His breath came heavily, and he focused hard to steady it. Gruesome images flashed before his eyes every time he tried to close them. Henry, the General, even other nameless pilots, cadets, and soldiers he saw every day… all of them, somehow, dead or in some way disposed of.

The thought of Henry being gone before him… it made him shiver and hold himself tighter.

He hadn’t realized he was crying until his breath came back to his face, biting cold on his dampened eyes. He drew his arm across his face, exhaling slowly. Waking up alone was suddenly very much not alright. Charles was uncomfortable, and still reeling from his nightmare. A risky mission, Henry didn’t make it… Why did this make him so distressed?

Well, it’s because he cared for his partner, or so Charles reasoned. But there was a layer to this reasoning that he didn’t quite think was real.

He thought long and hard into the night about how this other person in his life made him feel. It was unlike how anyone else could make him feel. He felt safe around Henry, and not just because he was a master thief and criminal who could kill you using just about anything in the room. He felt warm and cozy around Henry, but not just because he was tall and could give good hugs. He felt listened to around Henry, but not just because he rarely spoke himself.

These feelings all combined into one big mess of emotions, and this messy mixture was frighteningly unfamiliar to Charles.

Should he just… ask Henry about it? Maybe he would know something. Henry was good at knowing emotions, even if (or maybe because) he showed them in such small ways.

This was all a very large and seemingly unsolvable problem for Charles. A problem that could wait until morning.

-

For months Charles dealt with the frustrating ball of emotion that sat in his gut every time Henry was in his vicinity. It was getting quite annoying, dealing with the rush of blood to his face and his elevated heart rate every time he happened to glace in his partner’s direction. He wanted to scream himself hoarse, just to get rid of the lump in his throat when the same nightmare of Henry’s death came to torture his sleep and wreck his night.

It was on a half-moon, and Henry was asleep on Charles’ couch. Charles himself was on the floor, leaning against the bedframe and staring out the open door. He could make out Henry’s sleeping form on the sofa. A wave of calm washed over his anxious mind as he watched the steady rise and fall of the other’s breathing, which slowly synced with his own.

He strained his ears, hoping to hear something other than the quiet of the apartment. A cricket chirped loudly outside his window for a few moments, then ceased, and Charles was left with a weighty and melancholy silence. For once, he wished to hear anything at all. Usually his headphones were to block out noise, help him focus, keep him from getting overloaded. They were technically also for correspondence while he was in the air, but he used them constantly outside of missions.

Charles desperately wanted to wake Henry and talk to him about the horrible little melting pot that held all the unfamiliar feelings in his head, but he refrained. It would be rude! Henry was technically his guest, even though they were both familiar enough that they often showed up on the other’s doorstep late at night and let themselves in with the spare key. It wasn’t uncommon for one to go to sleep in an empty apartment, only to wake to the other passed out on the couch or cheerily cooking a small breakfast for two. Usually, it was easier to sleep when Charles knew there was someone familiar in his home.

Without being entirely aware of his actions, Charles rose from the ground and tiptoed into the kitchen, hopping up on the counter and staring out the window above the sink. He let out a long, drawn-out breath and closed his eyes. It was too quiet.

When he opened his eyes again, Henry was leaning against the counter beside him, a few feet away.

_Is everything okay?_ He signed, concern drawn on his features, half lit by moonlight. 

Charles deliberated on the question. No, he was not alright, was the obvious answer. There was a knot of feelings sitting in his heart right now, and it was growing more and more painful and pulling tighter and tighter the longer he held onto it. He wanted to unravel every little thread of emotion if it meant he could look at Henry without turning into a blushing, anxious, stuttering mess. 

_Can we talk?_ Charles finally replied, signing for fear that his voice would fail him if he tried to speak. 

Henry nodded, eyes searching the pilot’s troubled face. He waited for Charles to speak or sign, watching his body language closely. He seemed anxious. 

_I can’t figure out this feeling_ , Charles signed. _It comes up when you are here, and does not leave, ever. I feel safe, warm, heard. Like being your friend, but closer? Am I crazy?_

Henry felt a blush creep across his cheeks, and hoped it was dark enough that Charles didn’t notice. He hesitated for what felt like an eternity, but was really only a few moments. 

_You are not crazy_ , he finally replied, though his hands moved slowly, still thinking. There was another pause, more thoughts raced through each of their minds in the heavy silence that sat on both pairs of shoulders. 

_Love. You love me._

Charles stared at Henry’s hands long after they stopped moving. Had he seen that right? Love? Of all things to be in that little twisted knot, it was love? 

“I’m sorry,” the pilot muttered, staring at his own hands now, refusing to even look at Henry. This was slightly offensive to Henry, as Charles was effectively rendering him silent even with sign language, but Charles was dealing with unfamiliar emotions in this situation and Henry was his closest friend, so he forgave him. 

Tears came fresh and full to Charles’ eyes, and spilled down his cheeks and dripped onto his pajama pants. He wrung his hands together, squeezing them tight, until Henry’s trapped them and held them, gentle as the autumn breeze that whistled past the window. 

Henry let his thumb rub circles over the back of Charles’ left hand. “I love you too,” came his voice, only a breathy whisper. 

Charles looked up in surprise, locking eyes with the other, who offered an awkward half-smile. He mimicked the look, and his tears started anew, and he laughed breathlessly, and he leaned forward to press his forehead against Henry’s. 

Now, at last, Charles Calvin understood love. Love is all-consuming, a bright fire burning with the heat of infinite stars. Love is also quiet, and gentle, and hesitant, like an unsure cat exploring its new home. But, and Charles thought this was the best part, love is kind, and protective, and tall, and silent, and gives great hugs. And, Charles soon found out, love meant that he hardly had to wake up alone, ever again. 

**Author's Note:**

> My second work for this fandom! I hope this one isn't too cliche like the other one, lol. I hoped writing from Charles' perspective would be a little change of pace from most works that I've seen here so far.  
> Charles being demisexual and/or demiromantic is probably a headcannon that exists on the internet somewhere, but I thought of it this evening and just had to fic it. I based his feelings on love (the lines at the beginning of the story) on my own experiences as an aromantic asexual. Of course, I have never had sexual or romantic relations with anyone at all, so sorry if those seem like me projecting a little lol.  
> As always, feedback is always appreciated!!


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